Call of the Goddess: A Bona Dea Novel (Stormflies Book 1) (25 page)

Outside, Soporus soared in the east. She followed the same path as the suns, rising as Bona Dea turned to her, setting as their world faced away.

The two moons marked the half-way point of the evening sky, close together in their orbits this month. The Milky Way spilled across the southern portion of the sky and dribbled below the southeastern horizon.

She wondered for a moment how the Milky Way looked from Old Earth, then remembered the image of the dirty sky. Icky smog shrouded the atmosphere. Those skies were blind to the stars.

Axandra and Quinn walked hand-in-hand through the village—if it could be called such anymore. Already, much had been cleared away. The main avenue, paved in gray brick, was clear enough to bring in larger carts to haul away more in a single load. Much still needed to be removed. She expected clearing all of the wreckage would take weeks, not to even think about rebuilding. Tomorrow, several of the families would be moved to Undun until their homes were rebuilt.

“Will you be going back tomorrow?” Quinn asked, expecting that she would go with those families.

A chilly blast blew across the open plain around them. She pulled the collar of her sweater up over her neck.

“No. I'm going to stay a few more days. I just want—” She cleared her throat to cease stumbling over her words. “Just a few more days.”

“After I'm finished with my house, I'll come back to Undun,” he told her. “In a week or so. I want to help as much as I can in Lazzonir. She's almost here, you know.” He pointed toward the sky, in the direction of the cratered face of Soporus.

She nodded in understanding. Hidden down the street, away from scrutiny, they stopped.

Quinn's eyes studied Axandra's face. He brushed his fingers across her cheek and leaned close to kiss her lips. The chill left her body. Closing her eyes, she shut out the destruction around them and wished for the moment to last. His touch felt tender but hungry. He wanted to be alone with her somewhere, in a place where they could enjoy each other.

The place wasn't here. They both understood that. When they parted, almost panting, they held onto each other tightly in the dark. She listened to his heart beating in his chest and sighed.

“A week,” she bemoaned.

“It will go by quickly,” he promised.

“When you come to Undun, will you stay with me?” she invited. She peered at him with bewitching eyes, hoping to make it difficult to say no.

“Yes,” he committed. He held her face between his hands, his fingers in her curls.

“The, um, the city players are planning a production on the twenty-first,” she told him. “Perhaps we could attend together.”

“A play?” Every word between them was spoken to keep them in the present, though each of them imagined what time would be like when they could be completely alone together.

“Yes. The Council agreed that a play could be the perfect entertainment to help people feel normal again. Everyone is growing very weary of the compounding disasters.”

Nodding, he agreed that he would see the play with her.

“It's late,” he said finally. “We should turn in. I leave early.”

She didn't want to let go of him. “I know. Just a few more minutes. I just want to be near you.”

He held on tightly, looking up at the stars in the clear sky.

“Shooting stars,” he marveled suddenly.

She raised her eyes and saw the streaks of light. Some were short and dim. Others stretched in long slow streams.

“Pieces of Soporus,” she explained. “The astronomers tell us by the time she passes us, we'll see hundreds of meteors per hour.”

“That will be a brilliant sight,” Quinn dreamed. “We'll have to watch.”

Reluctantly, she loosened her grip on him. “I should let you go.”

“Walk me 'home'?”

It was too tempting. “I'm going to stay up a little longer.”

“You shouldn't be out here alone,” he lectured. He had spent too many days with the guards around.

“Ben isn't far,” Axandra assured him, gesturing with her head toward a nearby pile that was once the public house.

“That sneaky devil.”

“He's just doing his job,” she defended.

“He does it very well. Goodnight, Axandra.”

“Goodnight,” she wished. She watched him walk away, etching his stride into her memory.

After Quinn had gone, Ben appeared from hiding and came within a suitable distance of his charge. He spoke first, which was unusual.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Your Honor. But I do take your protection very seriously.”

Axandra continued to stare out at the sky, watching the meteors and wondering just for a moment why they were falling so close to the mountains in the west. Out on the plain, she could hear the yipping of the packhounds as they searched for prey. The animals sounded some distance away.

“I know you do,” she acknowledged. She tucked her hands into the pockets of her sweater. “I apologize for the other day. I put you in a very difficult position. I know Ty took you off duty because of what happened in the garden.”

“The Commander did not remove me from my duties, Madam,” Ben explained.

Struck with confusion, she turned to him.

“I asked to be relieved. I failed in my duty that day. It was my mistake that my weapon was not charged. That should never happen, and you were placed in grave danger because of it.” As Ben spoke, he stared straight ahead, avoiding direct eye contact. He stood at parade rest, his arms hooked behind his back.

“I wasn't aware of that. I assumed the Commander disciplined you.”

“He actually commended me. Since he didn't understand what actually happened, he believed I'd done something to save you.”

“Oh.” The simple sound gave indication of her surprise at the outcome.

Ben looked at her quite seriously. “If I may ask, Madam, what did happen?”

She dropped her eyes to the dark ground where she scraped the dusty surface with the toe of her shoe. What could she tell him? What did he remember? Should she lie?

She had been raised to practice telling the truth. And despite the over-reaching lie that was her life, Axandra believed in keeping all other truths visible. Besides, among telepaths and empaths, telling lies was usually detectable anyway and therefore pointless. Nevertheless, people still tried to get away with half-truths and deceptions.

“Ben,” Axandra began, choosing her words carefully. “Something very rare happened that day, something instinctual and defensive.” She watched his face, gauging his reaction. He kept his expression impassive. “You were going to jump in front of that beast to stop it or stall it. I couldn't let you lose your life if I had the power to protect it. The power came to me because I needed it to.”

“You saved both of us,” Ben said gratefully. “Thank you, Protectress, both for saving my life and for being honest with me. I would not be able to serve you if I did not respect you.”

“Those words mean a great deal to me. Thank you.”

Ben continued to stand there, guarding against anything else unexpected.

The hour grew later, and the air cooler.

Axandra turned to head back to the tents. “It's time to turn in,” she said aloud.

Ben followed diligently.

9th Octember, 307

Thankful to be home again,
Axandra walked into the front doors of the Palace with her travel pack hanging from her shoulder and her hat in hand. She intended to go straight upstairs for a much needed bath and a nap to relieve her exhaustion.

Lynn stepped into her path. The young woman, a member of the housekeeping staff, usually worked at Morton's bidding. The two seemed to share the same opinions of the world and of the Protectress. And as she did with Morton, Axandra found the woman's presence unpleasant and distracting.

“Councilor Morton requests to see you in her office,” Lynn demanded, standing puffed up like a prairie cock.

Axandra quickly stepped to the side, deciding not to halt her purposeful pace. “Inform the Head of Council that I will be happy to speak with her tomorrow.”

The girl slipped in front of her again, blocking the stairs. With a nasty sneer Lynn insisted, “It is a matter of some urgency, Your Honor. She requests that you speak with her immediately.”

Matters always seemed urgent when Morton called for her. Though she suspected duplicity, Axandra did not intend to be accused of selfishness if a true emergency existed. “Very well. Take my bag to my rooms.” She dropped the bag heavily on the stone floor and shoved her hat into the woman's chapped hands. Spinning around, Axandra marched back toward the Council wing and into the office hallway that ran along the East side of the Council Chamber.

Morton's door hung wide open when she arrived. The Councilor sat behind her desk studying a sheaf of papers and marking notes with a pen.

“Councilor, I didn't expect you to return from your break so soon,” Axandra commented, foregoing any formal greeting. “What do you wish to discuss?”

“Please close the door,” Nancy instructed, her eyes remaining on her papers. The tone of her voice signaled displeasure.

After swinging shut the ornate door, Axandra stood in place before the desk, waiting to be properly acknowledged.

Morton did not rise from her seat or look at her guest. Instead, she wet her finger with the tip of her tongue and turned a page of the collection in front of her. “I understand that you have taken up a relationship with a gentleman from Lazzonir. One Quinn Elgar?”

Inhaling deeply, Axandra composed the instant feeling of discomfort that washed through her. She predicted that this conversation would aggravate her, and she vowed to herself at that moment that she would not lose her temper in this room. Such a lapse would only fuel Morton's contempt for her. “With all due respect, Councilor, I do not believe that my personal affairs are any concern of the Council. Now, I was sent in here under the guise that you had an urgent matter—”

“That is the urgent matter!” Morton exclaimed as though the fact was obvious. She rose at last and stood with her hands clasped behind her back, her posture confrontational, chest out, chin up.

“Then I would appreciate it if you would show me the respect to which I am entitled before you begin such a discussion.” Axandra hardened her own posture, evading intimidation.

“Respect to which you are entitled, of course.” Nancy forced a bow.

Axandra grew more aggravated by the Councilor's actions, but forced down her urge to shout about it. “You seem to harbor some negative feelings toward Mr. Elgar.”

“I have met Mr. Elgar before, and I am informing you that he cannot be trusted.”

Brow wrinkled, Axandra peered back at the Councilor's dour expression. The elder woman clearly intended to dissolve the romantic relationship. Would Morton go so far as to embellish a few tales to slander Quinn's reputation? Touching the Councilor's mind, Axandra found that the details about to be revealed were true, at least from Morton's perspective.

“Please elaborate,” Axandra prompted.

Morton took a few steps forward, forcing a condescending smile on her wrinkled lips. “Your Honor, you are in a position that people—well, people want to get close to you. You can't give yourself away too quickly.”

Facing the Councilor, Axandra set her jaw. “What do you want me to know?”

Nancy motioned for her to sit on the nearby sofa, but Axandra refused. The moment this conversation ended, she planned on racing out the door.

“Very well, I will tell you what I know. About twelve years ago, Quinn Elgar was a Believer, and a quite outspoken one.” Morton began.

The words intrigued Axandra, especially if they were to be believed. Morton continued the tale, explaining that the younger Quinn was determined to prove that the Goddess actually resided in the Protectress, not just that a link existed between the two, which was the typical teaching of the cult. For months, he harassed the Palace staff and the Council members. He also attempted to contact the Protectress directly. He was caught trespassing in restricted areas of the Palace several times and in the Residence once.

“He is only wooing you to finally prove his theory—he wants access to the Goddess, like the other Believers,” Morton warned.

“Twelve years is a very long time, Councilor,” Axandra sighed disappointedly. “The Quinn Elgar I've come to know is sincere, honest and has only one passion—history. He's given no reason for me to believe otherwise. Good day.” Without waiting for any further accusations or explanations, she exited the room, walking with her shoulders back, chest out and chin high, her best imitation of a woman with no doubts.

Unfortunately, Morton succeeded in sowing a seed of doubt in Axandra's thoughts. After spending four days very close to Quinn, sharing their stories and their dreams, not once had he mentioned having belonged to the Believers. And the topics of religion and spirituality came up many times over the course of their conversations, so he certainly had the opportunity. He offered insight into the creeds of the faith, explaining for her why they refused healing aid from non-believers. He also revealed that they refused to share their minds with anyone outside their own sects. Believing themselves to be a chosen group of people, they did not wish to taint their thoughts with those of other religions or secularists. Accepting sin into their minds would cast them out of the Goddess's good graces.

Why would he not mention a period that greatly impacted his life?

Morton was not the only current inhabitant regularly availing the Palace twelve years ago. Marta, the groundskeeper, had been employed here for the last fifteen years, she'd been told. Marta was the most senior member in service at the establishment.

Axandra summoned Miri in the manner to which she had become accustomed, sending out a brief emanation of her need for the aide. Miri always appeared promptly, usually bringing with her whatever her mistress desired. This time, Miri came with Marta in tow, bringing the elder woman into the study. She also brought tea service and a snack of fresh fruit cut served in very small cups, barely large enough to hold one quarter of a frost apple.

The Protectress noticed daily that her portions seemed slightly larger than anyone else's. And sometimes she received a double ration. She had an inkling of where the extra came from. Miri seemed to have lost some weight in recent weeks. The loss showed most noticeably in her face. The young woman's cheekbones sharpened beneath her pink skin

Unfortunately, Axandra lost weight as well, most noticeably in the way her clothes hung loosely on her frame and her cheeks appeared sunken. She started slimming when she left the islands. She didn't eat as much as she used to. Stress stole her appetite and her sleep.

“You asked to see me, Your Honor?” Marta inquired, standing near the doorway after she entered.

“Yes, Marta. Thank you for coming,” Axandra greeted with a friendly smile. She motioned for the gray-haired woman to have a seat in one of the comfortable chairs grouped around an elaborately carved tea table, while she moved to sit in another. “How are the garden plants holding up without the usual rain? Everything still looks very green.”

“Oh, I'm allowed a ration of water to provide 'em, those thatin need the moisture,” Marta said gratefully, her speech thick with an accent Axandra recognized from the south central forest lands. “Most of th'plants don't need much. They just aren't flow'rin like they usually do. They're hardy. They'll survive.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Marta, how long have you been at the Palace?”

The woman's faded blue eyes circled around to the ceiling as she mentally counted the cycles. “Oh, I'd say 'bout sixteen an' a half years, Mad'm. Long enough. Not that I'm ready t'take my leave. Serving this place's been my calling.” Axandra accepted the tea Miri handed her and reached out to the tray to add sugar. Marta made herself comfortable, sinking into the cushion of the chair.

Axandra thanked her aide and dismissed Miri from the study, asking that the aide run her a warm bath so that she could clean up after her long trip. The aide excused herself and exited through a second doorway directly into the great room.

“I was wondering about something that I think took place about twelve years ago. With everything that's going on with the Believers, someone mentioned that one tried to come into the Palace—”

“Oh, you're talkin' 'bout the one that sneaked up here to the Res'dence. Oh-ho, that young man was a rascal. It'n started one day when he showed up in the kitchen—came in through the side door down by the recyclin' an' compost bins,” Marta recounted, one hand shaking loosely in the air as she spoke. That hand pointed in different directions as the story continued, pointing out where each instance took place. “He kept rantin' about the Goddess an' the Protectress and ev'ry few days, the Elite'd catch him somewhere else in the Palace. Once upstairs in the Staff quarters, another down in the basement near the bunker. Finally they caught him in this study, prowling around. He was given no uncertain terms that he was not to show up here again. And he ne'er did.”

“Do you know his name?”

She shook her head, her lips pursed in a thoughtful frown. “No. Can't say I ever heard his name. Cute fella though. Little young for me. He couldn't been more 'n nineteen or twen'y then. Don't know if he ever found what he was lookin' for, but he ne'er came back. Who told you 'bout that? With all the heck you've been through, who'd want to worry you with old stories.”

Axandra said nothing in reply to the question. “Thank you, Marta. I was just curious about the story. It seemed like a stretch of someone's imagination, but I think you've filled in the gaps.”

“Glad I could help. Thank you for the tea. Ya'know,” Marta began to comment, “Ya're a lot like your mother. She always did like to hear the scuttlebutt from the lips of the staff, rather'n those stodgy Councilors. Knew she'd get the story straight from us. Knew we're the real eyes and ears of this place. Well, I'll let you get to that bath. And you can have my fruit. You look like you've lost three kilos just this week.”

“I worked very hard in Beeterton,” Axandra justified, standing with Marta out of respect. “Have a good afternoon.”

“Same t'you, Your Honor.” Marta escaped through the main door, slipping on her work gloves as she walked away. She would go straight back to her chores.

Steam billowed from the bathtub, filling the bathroom with the aroma of herbs and oils in which to soak. As she undressed to slip into the long tub, she asked Miri how quickly she could send a letter to North Compass.

“I would like to write to Councilor Sunsun,” Axandra explained.

“I believe we could get it there by tomorrow,” Miri offered. “But isn't Mr. Elgar in Lazzonir.”

“The letter isn't for him. I know I'll see him on the twenty-first.”

“I'll check on you in twenty minutes,” the aide advised, “just in case you fall asleep.”

Axandra agreed that was a distinct possibility. The heat mixed with her fatigue sedated her mind and body. A bath had never felt so luxurious.

+++

“
You did what!?
” Miri shouted at Lynn, her face instantly red with anger. “Why you wretched, little… toad! The Protectress' personal life is no business of the Council, and you had no right to inform anyone of their relationship.”

Lynn pushed her light brown hair behind her ear. She actually smiled at Miri's agitation. “I see it as my duty to inform the Head of Council about anything suspicious that's going on in the Palace, personal to the Protectress or not. Our Esteemed leader should put more priority in improving her precarious reputation.”

“Precarious—” Miri stuttered. “Our Protectress is loved by everyone—”

“Not everyone. You blind fool.” Lynn derided. “She's got you so wrapped up in her masquerade of the helpless, uneducated stranger that you don't see what she really is, a conniving harpy.” Turning, Lynn started for the door of the laundry room, taking her basket of linens in her hands.

“I don't know what lies Morton's been feeding you, but you are the one who's blind,” Miri cried after her. She found herself crying, disgusted that Lynn would take such an attitude about the Esteemed.

Ever since Ms. Korte's arrival, Morton mongered in rumors and half-truths, trying anything to discredit the woman who claimed to be the Heir. The councilor had been sorely disappointed when all of the evidence proved the Heir's claim. Forced to declare Axandra Korte the Protectress, Morton became insufferable in her disdain. Miri could hardly bear to face the Head of Council without visibly cringing. The negative emanations buffeted her mind like a storm-fed wind.

Having spent so much time close to the Protectress, guiding her in day-to-day activities, traveling with her on those long roads, listening to her lilting voice touched with an accent spoken by those of the sea-side, Miri felt nothing for the woman but admiration and love. Even the brief touches of mind-to-mind, when the Protectress summoned her assistance, gave insight into the woman who was queen. Those thoughts projected worry for the people and concern that she acted appropriately. Whenever the Matriarch spoke, she did so honestly. She asked questions when she needed information. She requested those things she needed to keep her life simple.

And there was always that struggle with the thing that lived inside her, as Elora had struggled before her. No one suspected that the lowly aide knew the secret of the Protectresship. No one had any inkling of how many times she brushed the presence and how Elora, ill in her dementia, spoke to her plainly about the creature. The Protectress-Past prayed for the thing to die with her. Even then, Elora knew that the creature's death was impossible, and so Miri knew it, too. The creature would seek out the Heir if she were alive and bring her back here. Elora always believed that her daughter lived, and even regretted the fact at times, knowing the life her daughter was destined to suffer.